unereal type.

"M'sieur wishes to make an inquiry, I hear?" he began.

"Yes," I said. "I am very anxious to know whether you have any report of
a young person named Marie Bracq being missing."

"Marie Bracq!" he echoed in surprise, leaning forward towards me. "And
what do you know, m'sieur, regarding Marie Bracq?"

"I merely called to ascertain if any person of that name, is reported to
you as missing," I said, much surprised at the effect which mention of
the victim had produced upon him.

"You are English, of course?" he asked.

"Yes, m'sieur."

"Well, curiously enough, only this morning I have had a similar inquiry
from your Scotland Yard. They are asking if we are acquainted with any
person named Marie Bracq. And we are, m'sieur," said Monsieur Van Huffel.
"But first please explain what you know of her."

"I have no personal acquaintance with her," was my reply. "I know of
her--that is all. But it may not be the same person."

He opened a drawer, turned over a quantity of papers, and a few seconds
later produced a photograph which he passed across to me.

It was a half-length cabinet portrait of a girl in a fur coat and hat.
But no second glance was needed to tell me that it was actually the
picture of the girl found murdered in London.

"I see you recognise her, m'sieur," remarked the police official in a
cold, matter-of-fact tone. "Please tell me all you know."

I paused for a few seconds with the portrait in my hand. My object was to
get all the facts I could from the functionary before me, and give him
the least information possible.

"Unfortunately, I know but very little," was my rather lame reply. "This
lady was a friend of a lady friend of mine."

"An English lady was your friend--eh?"

"Yes."

"In London?"

I nodded in the affirmative, while the shrewd little man who was
questioning me sat twiddling a pen with his thin fingers.

"And she told you of Marie Bracq? In what circumstances?"

"Well," I said. "It is a long story. Before I tell you, I would like to
ask you one question, m'sieur. Have you received from Scotland Yard the
description of a man named Digby Kemsley--Sir Digby Kemsley--who is
wanted for murder?"

The dry little official with the parchment face repeated the name, then
consulting a book at his elbow, replied:

"Yes. We have circulated the description and photograph. It is believed
by your police that his real name is Cane."

"He has been in Brussels during the pa